Escalating Thoughts
by desina
Summary: Eighth in the post-Ripple of Hope series that Autumn and I are alternating on.


**a/n: **Eighth in the post-Ripple of Hope series that Autumn Rayne and I are continuing.

**Escalating Thoughts**

_As I move around to the other side of my desk, I frown, noticing a small block of blue post-its on the blotter, Kate's familiar scribbling adorning the top post-it._

"Saw this, thought of you," the note says. I chuckle, then start looking around to see wherever else she might have stuck little notes. I'm half pleasantly surprised and half irritated that I find none. I still have this gnawing feeling there would be one on the back of my shirt and it'd say "kick me," but that's probably a complex from having been the last boy to hit a growth spurt in fifth grade because I was the youngest.

I walk over to Kate's office, but she's out. I look at Leo. "She's here somewhere."

I pick up her coffee cup, hide it from Leo with my body, then go and fetch her coffee, remembering to add sugar. I add my own "Saw this, thought of you," note to the coffee cup before returning it to its rightful place, and walk back to my office, Leo shaking his head.

I'm stuck in the conference room for an hour-long consult with a fascinating wrongful death case, but all I can think about is what Kate did to me last night and what she's continuing to do to me right now.

Her thinking of me had to be positive, right? It wasn't another Chernof thing? Heh, last night she said I was full of it. I guess that means I can't be empty, right? I smile despite both insults.

The client doesn't notice my absent-mindedness, thank goodness, and they have a good case.

One problem.

The opposing counsel is my ex, Lydia. The ex that's been opposing counsel on the Redmayne case, and, while Kate teased me about the case mercilessly, Kate never found out about our prior history, only that Lauren was riding my ass. This time, I'd need to tell her, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Lydia will also be out for blood. She was about to become partner when the Redmayne case would settle, but I'm guessing her flubbing that negotiation means that she didn't make partner after all, and that anger will be aimed my way.

I go over all the details with the client again, listening for any sound of inconsistency that might indicate it's a tougher case than it sounds. True, most cases that get to litigation have nuance and precedent and can blow up a thousand ways if one isn't careful, but I got this rich by being good at nuance.

Fortunately, the client's not in a hurry; he's about to go on a several-week vacation, just wants to line his attorney up before he leaves. I don't necessarily have to tell Kate or Lauren right away, but I will need to tell them before any settlement negotiations or trial.

I say to the client, "Look, you've got some time, and I'd need to look through the firm's schedule to make sure we could take the litigation on," I replied. "Shall we meet again next week?"

The client agrees and we shake hands, then part.

I finally return to my office, lean back, and see a post-it note on my coffee cup. I look inside, and there's coffee. Still hot. The note said the same thing: "Saw this, thought of you." I snap a picture with my phone, then realize there's a second post-it underneath. "P.S. - it's not empty, either."

That's as close as Kate came to an apology, typically. Hell, it was closer than I usually came to one. My mother claims that's why I'm not married yet - I don't know how to apologize properly.

I dig around my desk drawer looking for something I remember seeing in there a few months back, plundering through many different kinds and sizes of pads, some fountain pen cartridges extra staples - all kinds of things. I pull the drawer completely out and see what I'm looking for: a paper pad in the shape of a high-heeled shoe. I pull out another post-it and put the now-traditional note on top. I call Leo and have him tell her there's a meeting in the conference room, then sneak in and put it on her desk.

I give Leo a thumbs up, but he just rolls his eyes.

Leo calls me later, and I know it's a ploy to carry out the latest of Kate and my thought escalations, but I pretend to fall for it.

I return and there's a well-worn paperback of some obviously sexy vampire novel on my desk with the "Saw this, thought of you," post-it note. I see the edge of another post-it note inside, and open to a page with a pretty hot kissing scene. Nothing was written on the post-it, though. It couldn't possibly have been an accident.

I smile, pulling out a Russian nesting doll I kept in a drawer to give to her at the right moment.

I use up a bunch of post-it notes and put them inside:

One.

Surprise.

Inside.

Another.

In the middle, I place one folded post-it that said: And I like surprises.

Then, on the outside, I write the now-traditional post-it, "Saw this, thought of you."

I put the nesting doll set on her desk the next time she stepped away. I narrowly miss her heading back to her office, but Leo covers for me at the last minute by distracting her so she turns away from where I've moved to.

After Kate returns to her office, Leo chases me down.

"What?" I ask innocently.

"What's this?" he says, waving his hands.

"Oh, we're just having fun."

Leo's eyes narrow. "Okay, then, so long as it's fun. But if Kate gets upset, you're fixing it, not me."

"Understood."

I'm on the phone with opposing counsel for an ongoing case when Kate returns to her desk and takes the doll apart. She smiles, then looks up at me with exasperation.

Oh. I'm on a phone call. Right. "I'm sorry, there was some background noise and I missed that last sentence?"

Opposing counsel patiently re-explains the last of the terms they want for a settlement. No way in hell was my guy going to fall for that, though. I start politely pushing at opposing counsel, and Kate wanders back in with a smile and the Russian nesting doll, which she places on my desk and sneaks out of the room. I smile despite the sudden tenseness in the phone call.

The argument with opposing counsel is so rote that I turn the doll toward me, seeing a post-it note with a single word. Is.

Against my better judgement while on a phone call, I open the first nesting doll and see another post-it. This.

The second doll reveals the third note: Why.

And the third reveals the fourth note: You.

I pause before the fourth doll to plead my client's case with opposing counsel, but he's having none of it. I absentmindedly open the doll, not thinking what the note would say.

Love.

I open the last doll to see the note inside: Me?

After an awkward pause, I hear a voice on the phone. "Counselor?"


End file.
